Took advantage of the lovely fall weather (and being locked out of the office during the government shutdown) to make a short mid-week trip down the coast. Left the city in the late afternoon and decided to stop for dinner at the fabled Alice's Restaurant instead of attempting a too-hungry-to-think-straight camp dinner in the dark. For no particular reason I opted for a chicken sandwich instead of sampling from the myriad of burgers, but you know what? It was great. Franklin's burger was also pretty great, as was the big wooden deck and small-town-in-the-woods vibe, so I'm thinking a return trip will definitely ensue. The pre-camp dinner did the trick in keeping us from snarling at each other while looking for a site among all the unclaimed "Reserved" signs in Butano State Park (sometimes I want to shake my fist at Reserve America) and constructing our tent in total darkness. But once we settled in it was fantastic, so unseasonably warm I sat by the fire in a sweater and shorts and the moon played peek-a-boo through crazy tall trees while we drank wine and made fancy-pants s'mores with grilled peaches and ginger snaps.

Lit out in the morning and stopped through the town of Pescadero for coffee and provisions. Made the usual run into Arcangeli's Bakery for their fresh-baked artichoke bread then noticed Downtown Local, an awesome little coffee shop I don't remember seeing the last time we came through. Sightglass coffee, rad decor with lots of motorbike memorobilia and vintage touches, and a little side shop selling local/bay area goodies (honey, soaps and apothecary stuff, candles, etc). A perfect stop to tide us over til we got down to the Pie Ranch and were able to gorge ourselves on berry baskets and a miniature apple pie.

Made a detour off the highway so Franklin could skate a ditch hidden back behind a bunch of bushes. It never ceases to amaze me how dudes (and ladies) can sniff these spots out and then find them again.

While he shredded, I got to admire the view.

Next stop was Harley Farms to say hey to the goats (and purchase the fruits of their labor) then rounded out our mammalian experience with a hike through Ano Nuevo State Park to see the elephant seals and on to Costanoa to grab a tent cabin for the night.

In keeping with our "fancy coastal camping" vibe (ie. there's a heated mattress in that tent) we grilled up lamburgers with minted yogurt sauce and lots of pea sprouts, plus a minty peach salad for good measure. Sometimes pre-planning camp meals makes life both easier and extra delicious.

And a nearly-full moon just makes everything magical.

Going coastal? If you're in the bay area, you've probably cruised down the 1 and hit most of these spots already, and you can do pretty much everything in a day if you don't have the time to stay overnight. But if you do, Butano State Park's got some lovely walk-in sites (as well as some pretty secluded drive-up ones) and Costanoa's a spot worth checking out. I imagine it's a zoo there during the summer, but mid-week off-season it was fairly empty and with tent cabins starting at $80/night (which includes use of the "comfort stations" with saunas, heated bathrooms and outdoor showers) it's a pretty good deal. They also have AAA rates and full moon specials worth looking into. You can roll straight down Highway 1 from the city, or take 280 south to Woodside then swerve your way through the redwoods past Alice's and La Honda on the 84, just depends on your mood. And if you do go, make time to stop into Duarte's in dowtnown Pescadero for a libation or a bowl of soup, it's a favorite spot with old-time ambiance and an excellent juke box.

Back in May we took a short trip to the desert to celebrate the marriage of two awesome friends and while there got to visit a site I've long been fascinated by: The Integratron in Landers, California. I first came across the Integratron in an amazing book The Visionary State, a book which (along with pretty much everything written by Mike Davis) inspired a great many adventures and the creation of The Landlubber (which of course has digressed a bit from its original intent, but I digress as well). If you're not familiar with the Integratron's reputation, you're in for a treat. What you're looking at is a 38-foot high, 55-foot wide, domed structure built entirely without metal, the only all-wood, acoustically perfect sound chamber in the United States. It's the creation of George Van Tassel, an aeronautical engineer and test pilot for Lockheed, Douglas and Hughes Aviation (where my maternal grandfather also worked) who designed it for rejuvenation and time travel, incorporating the writings of Nikola Tesla, Moses' Tabernacle and instructions from extraterrestrials with whom he had been in contact. All of this began in 1947 when Van Tassel moved his family to the Mojave desert near Landers, Ca. and set up residence next to the world's largest (7 stories high) free-standing boulder, aptly named Giant Rock. The Van Tassels leased 4 square miles from the U.S. government and opened up the Giant Rock airport and Come On Inn cafe. In the early 1950s Van Tassel began holding weekly meditation sessions in rooms underneath Giant Rock (excavated by a prospector named Frank Critzer who lived in the rooms until he blew himself up) which he claimed put him in touch with extraterrestrials. In August of 1953, Van Tassel was visited by a spacecraft from the planet Venus and invited onboard, where he was given the key to rejuvenating living cells. Thus began the building of the Integratron, which Van Tassel described as "a machine, a high voltage electrostatic generator that would supply a broad range of frequencies to recharge cell structure." According to Van Tassel's theory, the site chosen for the Integratron is an intersection of geomagnetic forces and the structure's unique shape allows those forces to amplify, focusing their rejuvenating and healing powers onto those inside. (While you may not believe in the healing aspect of said forces, a geophysicist measured a 15-mile radius around the Integratron back in 2005 and found that there is in fact an unexplainable spike of magnetic energy at the structure's center.) Throughout the 1950s, 60s and 70s, Van Tassel hosted widely attended Interplanetary Spacecraft Conventions, using the money to fund the Integratron project (which, interestingly, was built by shipwrights using 16 glued and laminated spines held together by one ton of concrete at its apex). Another interesting (but not terribly surprising) fact is that Howard Hughes was a significant financial supporter (Hughes being a bit of an eccentric himself, if I may say so). In 1978, Van Tassel suddenly passed away, leaving behind the epitaph "Birth through induction, death through short circuit" and that chapter of the Integratron closed. But it certainly didn't end things for good and after a rough couple decades, the Integratron found a solid foundation in the Karl Sisters who've opened it up for tours and "sound baths" that continue to utilize the space for alternative health and spiritual healing through neuroacoustics, while allowing those not looking quite as far as the stars to enjoy its architecture on the ground. In 2005, a historical monument was erected by the Ancient and Honorable Order of E Clampus Vitus, making it's existence official.

Magnetic Fields? The Integratron is about 2 hours from L.A. or 25 minutes from Joshua Tree and wll worth a day trip (or weekend adventure). Getting there is pretty straightforward from the L.A. area, take whichever freeway you like to the 10 east, then take that to Hwy 62 towards Twentynine Palms. Turn north onto Old Woman Springs Rd (Hwy 247) and after about 10 miles up, take a right onto Reche Rd then a left onto Belfield. Keep an eye out for a sign on the right and head through the gate when you see it, there's a parking area and the Integratron's behind a wooden fence you can walk through. If you want to actually go inside the structure, either for a tour or a sound bath, you should definitely call in advance and make a reservation as there's a steady stream of visitors all year round (and not just the interplanetary kind).

Can't tell you how many years I've been wanting to go to Steep Ravine...

Not so hard to guess why. It's a pretty damn magical place, perched on the bluffs overlooking the sea, with rustic cabins and woodstoves and tide pools. Wait for the tide to go out and you have a beach the size of a football field with pebbles to stack, driftwood to toss and tide pools to sift through. Play your cards (and tides) right and you might get water low enough to encounter some natural hot springs (and accompanying hippies). Even if it's not a minus tide you can find pockets of warmth along the shore and dig out little foot baths while bright orange and purple starfish cling to the rocks. Meanwhile, tadpoles push their way through the inland pond and Calla Lilies are currently blooming on the hills.

And where did all this magic come from? Historically speaking, it's kind of a fascinating story, mostly because it's ridiculously hard to find facts that all fit together (seriously, you'd think there'd be a succinct history somewhere, but no, it's like another Mullholland-land-shenanigan). From what I could gather, it all started when congressman and conservationist William Kent willed 200 acres of his Marin property (including Steep Ravine Canyon) to help create the Mount Tamalpais State Park upon his death in 1928. (For reference, Kent is the same gentleman who nearly 21 years earlier donated another large piece of property which became Muir Woods.) Prior to his death, the land had been privately owned by Kent and either the parcel at the base of Steep Ravine had special rights still left to the Kent family or they retained ownership of that bit, because in the mid-1940s (or late 1930's depending on the source) one of Kent's sons, William Kent Jr. built the cabins and started leasing them to local families. (It appears Kent, Jr. was a bit of a family outcast due to his parcelling up of various Kent estates.) One of these lessees was Dorothea Lange, who spent a great deal of time there communing with (and photographing) her family from the mid-1950's until her death in 1965. Somewhere in there the cabins must've become State Park property because in the 70's a San Francisco newspaper ran a scandal story about how friends with friends in higher places were getting first dibs on staying at the cabins. The California State Parks Department decided to avert the crisis by simply tearing the cabins down and returning the area to it's natural state---lucky for us there was a public outcry and the cabins remained. Of course while everyone was deciding what to do with them, the structures fell into various states of disrepair and by the time it was deemed they should be restored and made fully public 3 (or 4, again depending on the source) were so far gone they had to be demolished. Finally, on April 1, 1984, 10 of the original cabins (each with a new roof, woodstove, table and sleeping platform) were included in the state environmental campground system (for a whopping $12 a night). These days, reserving the cabins is no small feat, but if you're flexible you'll almost always find something. And sometimes you can catch the moon and tides just right and really dig your toes in.

A few weeks after Sugar Pine, summer fever continued with an impromptu trip to the Yuba River---or more accurately it continued with someone else's trip to the Yuba that I managed to weasel my way into, thus it was impromptu for me. And how lucky I was, as not only was the weather amazing and the swimming spot fantastic, but you know that moment at the end of an epic day when everyone gets a little hangdog and says "Man, I wish we didn't have to go back to work tomorrow"? But you all climb into the car and head for home because being the responsible adults that you are, you do have to go to work tomorrow? Well, what if you just said to hell with work and went to Nevada City instead and got a giant room at The National Hotel and ran into your old roommate at Cirino's and didn't make it to that rock show across the street because you were sitting on your veranda in shirtsleeves til 2 a.m. watching people spill out of The Mine Shaft (where you'd already dropped back a few earlier in the evening) and woke up the next day and went right back to that river again? Well then, you would know what this trip was like.

Like every good trip, there were teacups involved. This time it's a little homemade Ponderosa Limoncello, a birthday gift courtesy of that Tucker kid.

Speaking of kids, this one wasn't too bummed about the swimming conditions.

Krista managed to lose her straps, yet keep her top on through sheer willpower (her willpower that is, I was voting for a different outcome).

Josh never stopped moving long enough for me to get a decent photo. It being his birthday, I don't blame him, I mean who wants to sit still for pictures when you could be perfecting your Smurf Dive or yodeling at wildlife? I don't know what I'll be doing for my own birthday next year, but if I can reciprocate this dude will definitely be invited.

Speaking of dives, here we have Nate Murray demonstrating the art of The Flying Squirrel.

Happy days are ours.

Start with a teacup and end with a teacup. Or three, depending on how much tequila you imbibed the night before. Either way, it's nothing a little river time can't fix. But really, is there anything a little river time can't fix?

Birds fly high, you know how I feel? Call in sick, run away, forget all the things you were going to do and go jump in a river. I promise it'll change everything. Hop on I-80 and when you hit Hwy 49, head north towards Nevada City. Find North Bloomfield Road and wind your way down to the bottom of the canyon. When you hit the old wooden bridge, stop. That's all I'm allowed to say lest I get reprimanded for blowing up everyone's favorite spot, but there will probably be a handful of cars parked by the side of the road so you'll know you're in the right area. Of course, you'll have to come back sometime, but why not cross that antiquated trestle bridge when you come to it?

This crazy warm wave has me all excited for summer. I know, I know, a wet spring may be right around the corner but I keep catching a whiff of something in the warm evening air (bacon dogs?) that brings me back to hot times and county fairs and swimming...and a little Demolition Derby.

Oh, hell yes. Went to the bout at the Napa Town and Country Fair last August and it did not disappoint.

Fell in love with this tow truck (and it's grizzled driver).

The pink lady killed it.

As did this corn dog.

All the smoke, noise, anticipation and crashing about a body could ask for (unless you happened to be driving in the actual event). One car got slammed so hard it jumped the barrier and everyone in the front row went wild.

Rounded the evening with foot soaking and warm air drinking and a love of good old-fashioned summertime fun.

Smash it up? This year the Napa Town and Country Fair runs August 8-12 and the Derby's usually on Saturday. Box tickets look like the most epic way to watch the destruction, but appear fairly hard to come by as those in the know snap them up early (and yearly). Our angle from the nosebleeds was still fantastic, as was the bout of bumper cars that naturally followed. Gentlemen, start your engines...

Went clamming up in Tomales Bay a few months ago. Stopped at Drakes Bay Oyster Co and picked up a couple dozen oysters at totally unbelievable prices. Only ever been to Hog Island and Tomales Bay Oyster Co (both of which are great for hanging out) but if you're just grabbing some on the run, Drakes is your spot. Took our picnic over to Heart's Desire Beach and started the digging.

Lots of little guys, but plenty that passed the old O-ring test ( a Groshong favorite).

Hats, scarves, garden claws and a bottle or two of wine and we wrangled our limit of clams from the rocky shore. The best part is watching them spit water in giant arcs as the tide comes back in.

Hands all clammy? Unlike the giant Washington clams we dug for up in Bodega Bay, these guys are littler and closer to the surface (though they still bury themselves pretty good). A fishing license is required, but day-use ones can be bought at the hardware store in nearby Pt. Reyes Station (or get a yearly one online). Heart's Desire is part of Tomales Bay State Park and so has an entrance fee and a check-out time, but is well worth it for it's lovely seclusion (and amazing view, and abundance of clams, and...) Whether you take Hwy 1 or Sir Francis Drake to Olema, head north from there towards Pt. Reyes Station, then west on Sir Francis Drake. Take a detour to Drakes Bay Oyster Co (open 8:30am - 4:30pm everyday) or just keep on til you hit Pierce Point Rd and follow that to your Heart's Desire.

Just after Thanksgiving the family Groshong invited us up to The Sea Ranch for a few days of R and R. Located on the coats between Bodega Bay and Mendocino, it's quite a drive for those of us whose lunch prefers to sit quietly, but so very worth it. Christ, it's pretty up there.

Rains made the fungi come out in the most brilliant colors and it was all I could do not to eat them.

Stuck to another local bounty instead, Groshongs elder and younger having harvested a pot of mussels for us all.

Winter beaches definitely get a slice of my heart.

Franklin tried his hand at pole-fishing and was oddly unsuccessful considering the name of the activity.

The resident sea lions seemed to fare better, looking extremely well fed as they lolled about.

Beach combing turned up some amazing colors.

Scrambled down a muddy hill to a driftwood heaven of future shelves and tilandsia holders.

Tide-pooled around, collecting sea urchin shells and poking anemones.

Noticed something red in one of the pools and kind of freaked out when we realized it was a gigantic octopus. Never seen one in the wild and it was this incredibly bright and vivid reddish-orange, pulling itself along from one pool to another against the current and over a waterfall. Pretty damn cool.

In fact, if the steamed mussels, home-made Manhattans, Skip-Bo and late night Trivial Pursuit didn't do it already, I'd say that octopus made the drive all worth while.

To the seashore? While The Sea Ranch is home to many a resident (in some amazing 60's modern timber-frame houses, which it's worth noting, spawned their own phrase "Sea Ranch Style") there are also rental properties available, as well as a restaurant and lodge. While we lucked out with a couch-crashing invite, it definitely seemed like a good place for a weekend or so, with state parks all around and it's own stretch of beaches to explore, not to mention that most rentals have a hot tub....

The delta's been one of my favorite rambling spots for a handful 0f years. Its like a wonderful mix of rolling mid-western farmland and the water-skiing river atmosphere of my growing up, complete with dockside bars serving Coors and potato skins. Beyond that sweet nostalgia, it's also full of small town history, abandoned boats, weird old marinas and some breathtaking scenery.

One of these summers we'll boat up there and spend a week exploring by water.

Til then, it's spritzers and camping.

I think I have an obsession with docks.

We'd only ever been up for day trips, but with the weather nice everywhere but the city, we thought we'd try for a full weekend. Brannan Island SRA is pretty gigantic and unexciting as far as campgrounds go, but they have 10 or so really nice "walk-in" campsites that overlook the slough and are separated from the drive-through areas by a little hill. Franklin and I settled in with a proper picnic.

Picked a bunch of wild spearmint by the water's edge and made cocktail-hour mint juleps.

Fried up the catfish Franklin caught at Lake Temescal and watched our college-aged neighbors nearly burn their camp down trying to dump a jug of lighter fluid on the fire. Highly amusing for us old-timers, especially the "Dude, aren't you training to be a fireman?".

Some damn pretty colors out there.

Woke up and watched this guy chug his cool little double-ender out of the boat docks.

Lazed around on the grass, swimming and reading in the sun, then headed up to Locke for a drink at Al's and a troll through the fantastic vintage store next door.

Rumor has it there was a secret underground tunnel from the dock to the hotel's speakeasy during prohibition. Whether illegal or no, it played host to many a movie star during the 30's and looks like it would've been a pretty amazing place for dancing and late-night pool diving.

Whizzed back up a couple weekends later with Kate and Clare in tow, this time with no reservation but a crossing of fingers. Got there to find the campground full, but the last spot secretly held for us by the nice gal Kate had pleaded with while we sat in traffic through Antioch.

So worth it.

Busted out the cheese in celebration.

I love the sun.

More laying in the sunshine, blackberry picking and the occasional dip while karaoke wafts across the river from the Outrigger bar. It's enough to make you need a cold beverage.

Stopped off for bait and tackle in Isleton on the way to Al's. To be able to say you got blood worms from the Master Baiter. . . it never gets old.

I think this may have been the mayor of Isleton, or at least it's homefront security. Cruising the street un-chaperoned, his bark was a force to be reckoned with, as I imagine would be his bite unless you had a shoebox to stuff him in.

The infamous Al The Wop's, where began a lifetime addiction to pepperoncinis with peanut butter. Set a few back, then took the winding levee roads through the warm night air and another listening of Tusk. Who'd have known that would be the best feeling ever?

So long summer? One never can tell, but it was nice to get that sun in while we could. And in truth, the delta's one of those places worth exploring anytime of year. There's a couple of different ways to go (and no real way to avoid the Antioch gridlock) but Franklin and I favor taking the 80 east all the way to the 4, which takes you past the awesome Thrifttown on San Pablo Dam Road and gives you a nice stretch of Hwy 4 before it turns into strip malls again. From the 4, you turn off on the 160 north and the entrance to Brannan Island SRA is just a little ways. The swimming area is great for a day trip and never seems to be too intensely crowded, mostly just families bbq-ing, fishing and hanging out in the shallows. There's also a boat launch and docks if that's your angle (or it may be someday). Just up the 160 is Isleton, home of the Crawdad Fest, the Master Baiter and one tiny terror, and winding beyond that is Ryde, Walnut Grove and Locke, the latter most definitely worthy of a visit. Be sure to eat a peanut butter pepper for me if you go.

A couple months ago we went down to Big Sur to see Jonathan Richman play at the Henry Miller Library. Oddly enough I'm not really a huge fan of any of those three, yet together it made for a really beautiful weekend and I was happily surprised at how much I enjoyed it all. You know you're getting to be a snob of the worst sort when you start openly admitting that Big Sur's not your cup of tea. . . my apologies to Mother Nature, you've got a lovely daughter, this gal just requires a little more sunshine.

Still, I will not under any circumstances say it isn't absolutely gorgeous down there. Camped Saturday night at Pfeiffer Big Sur SP and rolled down to the beach via secret path to watch Grayson catch a few waves the next morning. Franklin and I wandered further and found a lovely little sitting spot made from what must have been a gigantic tree back in the day.

A spot like this might even get me into re-reading Tropic Of Cancer. Maybe.

Back up the hill and on to Sunday evening's entertainment.

All told, Jonathan Richman was great. My love for the Modern Lovers ended sometime during college and I think I just sort of shrugged him off as being too quirky and thus, annoying. Quirky he definitely is, but its this genuine weirdness that totally comes through in person in a way that doesn't in movies we won't name. He's just such a nut, so totally affected, but in a way that makes you feel like its a persona he made up all on his own and will never grow out of, because its just him. I ramble, yes, but the man made me like his music again and now says hello whenever I see him at random places like the video store, so thumbs are up.

The Library itself is also fantastic with a huge outdoor area and a great selection of books all neatly arranged on their wooden shelves. I kind of want to live there. Not in Big sur, but in the Library.

Proutys were digging it as well.

Went over to Deetjen's post-show, where Nate and Abby and Margeaux were nesting for the night. Had been wanting to see the place for a long time and it didn't disappoint.

Those are some damn precious little cabins.

Dinner at the restaurant which was also fantastic, dark and woodsy and warm.

No room at the inn, so we drank another bottle then headed out with Grayson and Allie to shack up in one of the tent cabins at Fernwood. More drinks, a little bonfire and a damn pretty 6 a.m. drive back home to round it off.

It does rather seem like we've got water on the brain, doesn't it? Got invited to go clamming a little while ago and couldn't pass up the opportunity to get out of the house at 5:45 a.m. Hadn't been clamming for years and was pretty unprepared for what ensued (years of clamming in the warm, shallow waters of Mexico will do that). Drove up to Bodega Bay, rowed a little boat across the lagoon to the mud flats exposed by the super low tide and started the hunt. Early morning fog gave everything the quality of a lunar landscape.

Til now I'd never had to dig so much for one little clam.

I'd also never dug up anything that looked like that.

The keyhole shaped opening (hopefully) marks the descent of a nice, big Washington clam. There's also horsenecks and a whole bunch of smaller guys.

After you find the proper hole, you get to start the digging part. Most of them were down about a foot and a half, but you have to be careful not to crack the poor things with your shovel and smash their shells. Just because they're getting eaten doesn't mean they need to get beaten up beforehand...

My least favorite part: reaching in and pulling out the goods. It was inevitable that the first thing I touched every time was its long, slimy neck.

Clam on? We spent the day under the tutelage of Frank Quan, resident China Camp-er and knower of all things relating to the catching and eating of sea creatures, who took us up to Doran Regional Park and showed us the ropes. You need a fishing license to collect clams and there's regulations on how many you can take in a day. Once home, Frank showed us how to split them open, cut out the tasty bits and fry them up in panko bread crumbs. Tastiest 3 a.m. snack I've mustered in a long time.

After years of wanting, Cousin Galen finally took me fishing. Packed up the rods and the kiddies and lit out for Lake Temescal last Friday after work. I'd never been there and had no idea it was such a gem. Early evening and most of the swimmers had gone home, leaving the lake placid and duck-strewn for us anglers.

Clare brought spritzes and a lovely grin.

Chicken livers: irresistible to everyone but catfish.

The Catfish Hunter awaiting his prey. From the tying of lines to where and how to cast, Cousin Galen has it down.

Dropped our lines and had some snacks (and hoped somebody else would go looking for snacks as well).

For my birthday I was given a copy of Dr. Arpad Gerster's Notes Collected in the Adirondacks: 1895 & 1896 and it's renewed an obsession with the lakes and lands of the Northeast. Not being from there really allows one to romanticize and believe there might be pockets such as this still in existence. Wooden canoes, canvas tents and knee-high lace-up boots...its a heaven I hope to explore someday soon.

Night fishing with a radio and a few bottles of wine. Who can resist that kind of lure?

Not this guy. Franklin reeled him in and the joy was palpable as he was laid flipping about on the deck. I think we all hoped it would happen, but you can't beat the feeling of when it actually does.

Back at home, Galen showed us how to filet him, avoiding the bones and slicing away the skin. The good stuff then went into a container with milk to soak for a few hours and lose its fishiness. A day later and we patted it dry, rubbed it with mustard and bread crumbs and cooked both filets over a campstove. Can you beat that?

Who's got bait legs? I've found a new love. Or maybe I just love anything slightly sporting that takes place on a body of water. In any case, I'm hooked and intend to keep fishing on the list of prominent hobbies. Which will require a bit of gear: we got our rods from Galen's garage sale, but I know tackle and whatnot can be easily found and I picked up a rather nice, almost vintage-looking wooden net at Sports Authority with minimal hassle. The real hassle came from the Park Policeman in Temescal who took the 10:00 curfew very seriously and assumed that the prevalence of gray hairs and lady-like manners meant we were still in high school and should be treated as the warrant-less delinquents we obviously are. Oh, Park Police won't you ever learn? We save our transgressions for the really big fish.

A few weeks ago I wrangled my way into what I hoped would be a pretty interesting day: a trip up the Petaluma River on board the Grace Quan. I didn't actually have to do much wrangling, but a sail on a full-scale reconstruction of a Chinese Shrimp Junk is no small feat in my book and what I'd assumed would be a lovely afternoon ended up in the realm of grand adventure. Apparently some people get to live this joy on a daily basis.

Started out in China Camp where theGrace Quan currently resides. When she's not there, you can usually find her over at the Maritime Park, which is how I was able to make my presence on this particular voyage.

If you haven't heeded my advice thus far to make a visit to China Camp, you should. Its got that nostalgic air I'm always running on about and is another great example of a place that went from a living, breathing entity to a State Park without losing too much in the process. Sit on the dock and say hello to Frank who lives there still and whose mother, the venerable Grace Quan, lent the junk her name.

And we're off.

Cheese and grapes and salmon-stuffed tomatoes and glorious sunshine.

Our winsome captain, Mister John C. Muir.

I think I found a new acreage of dreams.

Karnell the Hun.

Sean the diver.

Billy rowed out and paid us a visit. Rumor has it he used to spill the wine with Fleetwood Mac, but I was naturally too awestruck to elicit a validation of this fact.

Sunny days and boats, late nights and Rhiannon.

I could get used to this sort of life.

A distant humming suddenly turned into a tiny plane buzzing by overhead. I think I was too excited to actually be alarmed by its proximity.

Turned out to be another friend of Mr. Muir's. Couldn't help feeling like something out of Raiders of the Lost Ark, what with the Junk and the river and all.

So many neat things to explore. It appears I've found a new place to dream about.

The raising of the bridge and we're into Petaluma.

The Petaluma River Fest was the reason for our voyage and a handful of lovelies were already there. This one supposedly belonged to Colleen Moore, the silent film star of whom F. Scott Fitzgerald remarked "I was the spark that lit up Flaming Youth, Colleen Moore was the torch. What little things we are to have caused all that trouble." If only he knew the trouble of getting home from Petaluma...

And how does one get home from Petaluma? If the way you went is not the way you'll return, I'd advise something less tricky than a ride to San Rafael, a missed bus, a cab ride to the Golden Gate Bridge, a hitched ride across and a long walk through the Presidio's brambles. Or maybe I wouldn't. Sometimes a good adventure calls for a stout heart, and offers a chance to drink wine where wine isn't usually drunk.

So many good things happened on my birthday. Started out canoeing on the Russian River. Evelyn took this picture and I think it sums up how I felt rather perfectly: I'm on the water in a bathing suit, could I get any happier?

I love rivering. So much goofy fun, you'll just have to imagine it for yourself.

Early evening drive the 15 miles to Occidental to meet more good people.

Just enough time for a few cocktails in the pool before foraging for dinner for 30.

Pastas, wine, birthday, engagement and marriage toasts surrounded by my favorite people. Even the crotchety old waitresses softened up a bit.

Water babies? This post made possible by all the awesome people I know. Three birthdays, three days of party and so many magical little daydreams fulfilled. Thinking about it makes me happy all over again. I still can't believe how mellow the Occidental Hotel was, they must be used to far worse things than bloody towels and pool parties running long past check-out. So much sun and water, and that dream-like bus ride back to Burke's, warm and breezy like an end-of-the-day bonding at summer camp. Summert birthdays, you rule.

Spent a wonderful Sunday down in Woodside for the engagement of the lovely Miss Margaret Jane Harris and Captain Stephen Taylor. The Harris' place was absolutely amazing, very 1930's feeling with a huge lawn and trees everywhere and of course the whole family was sweet as can be. Rather ridiculously I got no pictures of any of them, nor even of the bride and groom, as I was too busy stuffing my face and losing at croquet.

Hamming it up in the sunshine.

Franklin manages to make new friends wherever we go.

Then into the pool.

Many pairs of shorts were borrowed from MJ's father, which made for some festive afternoon attire.

Took a day trip up to the Marin Headlands two Sundays ago for another nature-meets-music outing a la David Wilson. The man has such a knack for pulling these things together, I'm constantly amazed (and looking forward to the next one). Sadly, I didn't realize the roll of film I brought along had already been used, which made for almost no photographic mementos of the day, unless I pretend Franklin's niece and nephew were also there. More of that later.

The multi-talented Mr. Wilson drew up maps of the area with trails leading to various art creations, or at least I imagine that's how it was intended, though the sheer size of the place made everything seem rather haphazard. So nice just to picnic on the beach with fellow out-of-city-ers and wander between the hills and sea.

My gratitude to Mr. Manson for once again being the Pied Piper of a fresh-air filled outing. The highlights? Being summoned to hear Pale Hoarse sing in an abandoned battery tunnel by a giant white diamond that Chris Duncan and friends unfurled down the slope of a hill, watching prehistoric looking newts paddle around a murky pool while the light danced across the concrete above, and hearing Coconut cover The Coasters "Searchin" from inside a miniature sand valley that sheltered us all from the wind. Goddamn that's a good song.

That's all folks? Keep your ears peeled, I'm sure there's more excursioning just around the corner. In the meantime, take a day trip up to the headlands and wander about; sand, sea, rolling green hills and old military forts make for a lovely outing even without all the entertainment.

Under the boardwalk? Spent a sweltering afternoon lying on the beach in Alameda. Something about the eerily warm water and endless stretch of sand backed by (not uninteresting) suburbia made it seem like we were somewhere completely different, like Florida or Coney Island in the 1960's. Such a strange dichotomy to sit in the warm sand and look across the water at the skyscrapers of downtown. Through the haze I kept imagining the empty city of 1959's On The Beach and wishing Neptune Beach was still around.

Just got home from a week of Hawaiian Punch, but had a couple lovely weekenders before we left, one involving the dreaded Valentine's Day. Wish it weren't so, but every year there's an internal struggle between not wanting to make a fuss over the Hallmark holiday and feeling slightly saddened when no fuss is made. This year I was hell-bent on getting a big bag of oysters to bbq and going camping, just sitting by a fire with a bottle of wine and Mr. Franklin and not being anywhere near the neurosis of people trying to make other people's dreams come true. Naturally, I was thwarted by a steady gray downpour and two not-so-little voices telling me it was a good idea to stay up til 6 a.m. the night before. I tell you, its always something.

Packed up the car regardless and, after a stop by Steep Ravine to determine that there truly weren't any cabins left, headed up to Tomales Bay for a taste of those oysters I was longing for. Stopped at The Marshall Store and started off what was to become a really lovely extended holiday.

I have to say those were the best barbequed oysters I've ever eaten, hands down, no contest. Polished off a whole dozen of them, plus a half dozen raw and a bowl of clam chowder and felt absolutely amazing.

Continued our drive up the 1 past Bodega Bay and Sonoma Coast State Beach, watching the waves crash and the rain come down. Figured we should probably get serious about lodgings for the evening and realized pretty quickly that this is why people plan this sort of thing weeks in advance. Somehow it just hadn't occurred to me that every couple in every town would be staying in a hotel.

Turned landwards at Jenner, thinking we might have better luck inland and if nothing came up we could always just loop back home. So glad we did as the drive was ridiculously pretty along the Russian River with bright green hills and flowers blooming everywhere. Plus, the sudden influx of telephone reception allowed me to secure the last possible vacancy in a 20 mile radius (naturally at just the sort of quaint and expensive bed and breakfast I'd meant to avoid) which brought peace of mind and the ability admire the cows without rushing.

Spent the night at the Inn at Occidental, causing Franks and I to decide that putting the words "Inn at" in front of a name generally adds an extra hundred dollars to the rate. Still, woodsing it is fun but there's definitely something to be said for lying around on the carpet in front of a nice warm fire playing Trivial Pursuit and drinking champagne and letting the rain fall on someone else's head.

Awoke warm and groggy and feasted on the Inn's delicious sauteed-mushroom-eggs-benedict-on-a-brioche concoction before setting out towards Hendy Woods. Made a stop in Boonville for some much needed Bloody Maria's (its official, I'm siding with tequila over vodka) and a chance to overhear some Boontling, a local dialect that may or may not have been created by a man named Squirrel some time around 1890.

Thumbs up for the Boonville Lodge; great drinks, tasty food and a really nice bartendress who kept putting Fleetwood Mac on the jukebox.

Followed one of those "firewood for sale" signs you always think about following but never do and found ourselves down a dirt lane chatting with the owner of an inumerable antler collection and an awesome chicken-stealing dog. Bought a nice big box of wood for ten bucks and saw this sweet Model A in the process.

After all the crazy non-vacancy of the night before I was a little worried about our getting a cabin, there being only four of them and Monday being a holiday. Of course I worry and there's not another soul around.

Dropped our money in the honor box and grabbed a lovely jug of cider at The Philo Apple Farm down the road. Poured in a little corn whiskey and warmed our cups on the woodstove.

Occidental Tourist? Every once in a while having no set plan works out just fine. In this case we managed to roll at least four separate trips into one lovely drive-by, setting the gears in motion for many an upcoming adventure. I really liked the small-town-in-the-trees feel of Occidental and I'm glad it was foggy for our foray down the mysterious (at least to me) Bohemian Highway. Negri's looked awesome and the mental wheels are already turning for a Port Costa-style takeover of the Occidental Hotel. We now know the location of the fabled Rocker Oysterfellers and the hollowed-log houses of the Hendy Hermit and drove along some of the prettiest damn roads you ever did see, so without a doubt I give the candied holiday a thumbs up this year. One of these days we'll get it together and book a cabin at Steep Ravine, with all the crazy minus tides of late the hot springs should be accessible and I couldn't fathom missing out on some warm water. Found out also that Dorothea Lange spent a great deal of time there later in her life and just came upon some neat photos she took before she passed away in 1965. I sure do love Northern California.